


When the Deal is Done

by skyenapped



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Eventual Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, M/M, Past Abuse (not between Harvey and Mike), Pre-Relationship, Single Dad Mike
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-04-27 13:29:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5050351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyenapped/pseuds/skyenapped
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m not trying to interrogate you, Mike,” Harvey said. “I’m just trying to figure out how the hell you got in this situation.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this forever ago but decided to finally post it. the summary is terrible & probably misleading.
> 
> :)

 

To be honest, before Harvey even went into the bar, he noticed the frail, demure - but clearly attractive - young man, standing off to the side, a few paces from the door.

Something about him intrigued Harvey, who sat inside nursing beer after beer. But after about thirty minutes, his thoughts were back on work, and Harvey was frustrated, and the alcohol wasn’t doing nearly enough to help him unwind.

When he eventually paid his tab and walked out, the kid was still there. Harvey just watched him until their eyes met.

“What are you looking at?”

If it was supposed to come out intimidating, the kid missed the mark by a mile. Harvey might have even laughed if he wasn’t still busy taking in the sight.

Hair wild, this way and that, bleached by the sun, shirt too small – at one time it had probably been white – and the jeans Mike wore looked like they’d fit more than snug once upon about twelve meals ago. Now they just scraped loosely at his hipbones, tattered all the way to the hem.

Harvey shrugged. “You,” he said coolly. “Ten o’clock. Always gig for clients this early?”

The boy looked away, caught. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh. And I don’t know a street kid from a hooker. What’s your name, kid?”

“Why? You a cop?”

“Lawyer.”

“Even better.”

“I’m not trying to bust you. Trust me, I have better things to do. At least I will…if you’re not interested in talking to me.”

“Oh.” the young man shifted, his words suddenly caught in his throat. “Uh…my name’s Mike. But I’m not—”

“Sure you aren’t.” Harvey interrupted, nodding across the street at a dark-tinted sports car. “What do you say we finish this nice conversation in my car?”

Mike’s heart was beating hard now, his brain struggling to catch up fast enough to figure out what to do. On one hand, Harvey wasn’t his typical clientele. Not that he hadn’t fucked a few dozen rich guys, or that he had any delusions about not looking the part, but 75 percent of the people who propositioned him were a little less Mysterious Tom Ford, a little more Divorced Plastic Surgeon.

A lot of them were hot too - not that Mike could afford to be too particular - but Harvey was _captivating_ in a way he hadn’t encountered before.

And now the man was leading the way off the sidewalk and Mike was following dumbly like he was a shadow.

He didn’t know how, but in forty seconds he’d ended up in the passenger seat of a limited edition Ferrari, that familiar fight-or-flight sensation jolting his veins. He fought it down.

“Let’s talk, kid.”

“Uh…okay.”

“Don’t act like you’re not a pro at this. Give me the bullet, I’m getting impatient.”

Mike took a deep breath – he didn’t usually find himself tongue tied. This was almost a nightly ritual for him by now, and it had lost all of its moral shock value. The thing was, he usually threw back a couple shots, if he could afford them, and, apathy and numbness firmly in place, proceeded to be an obedient hole as needed to sustain his life. It was a survival mechanism, really. But he’d learned the hard way that being drunk during these nights was a _really_ bad idea, so he was still acclimating to the feeling of being stone cold sober, completely aware of what he was about to do.

He desperately wanted a way out, make no mistake, but that concept was a lot easier to think about than achieve, especially when it’s Tuesday night and he’s starving and it’s cold out and the first person to show him the least bit of attention, let alone civility, is a drop dead gorgeous lawyer in aV8.

At that point, what Mike was doing to get by didn’t seem so absurd, at least that’s what he told himself. Adaptive, maybe. And risky. But not absurd. No one had killed him yet, anyway. Although he’d wished, on a few occasions, that they had.

Shaking his head, he willed those old but vivid memories away. _Survive,_ he told himself. _Just do it, like you always do. Get it over with. Hungry. Tired. Just get it over with._

Mike was never this off his game. He wasn’t the most suave slut in the city, by any means, but he usually could charm any man who was on the fence into a definitive yes, and spitting out his costs was never a problem. Now, though, staring into the man’s dark brown, half-curious, half-bored eyes – and Mike was thrown for a loop.

“Uh…um, sixty…I guess.”

Harvey smirked. “You guess?”

Okay, so Mike could’ve upped his price – _a lot –_ but as it was, he’d learned right out of the gate that wealth didn’t mean a man was going to throw a wallet at him. And the fact that Harvey had requested his scrawny presence in his brand new car only meant that the man was interested – not sold.

Whether Mike could get sixty dollars out of the night, or a thousand, wasn’t the question. The question was: could he guarantee himself _any_ amount of money, and if so, what would it take to do it?

He was fully aware of his ability to make people stare dumbly into his blue eyes with lust, but it’d been awhile since he’d felt like that. He’d been with so many people now and he’d skipped a lot of meals, and a lot of money had changed hands although he still didn’t have a penny to his name, and a year’s worth of shame was firmly ingrained.

So no, Mike didn’t feel like he was lowballing himself tonight.

“Sixty,” he repeated, slightly more certain. “Thirty for oral.”

“And for everything?”

Mike looked down at his worn out sneakers, resting in stark contrast against the spotless floorboards. “Negotiable,” he mumbled.

_Cheap as you look._

The driver seemed satisfied, and the engine purred to life and the car peeled away from the curb.

 

*

 

Mike felt out of place a lot, but the top floor penthouse with his latest John had to be the winner. He’d been in many fancy apartments, but none like this, at least none he’d been sober enough to remember.

He stood still for a minute, surrounded by floor to ceiling glass with the whole city on display in lights, and closed his eyes, reminding himself of who he was and what he was doing there. Not a friend, not a family member. Not installing cable. Not painting the wall. Not babysitting the kids. Not even a one night stand.

_A prostitute._

Briefly, Mike wondered what the man in front of him – holding two glasses of liquor – had either to hide or to remedy. A bad break up? Bitter divorce? Exhausting career? Loneliness?

Careful not to appear rude, Mike politely declined the glass. “I…sorry, I just…I don’t like to be drunk when…I mean…no thanks.”

Shrugging, Harvey turned and set the unwanted tumbler of scotch on the counter. He faced Mike again, alternating between sipping his drink and slipping his arms out of their sleeves.

“What are you good at?” he asked boldly. “And are you usually this nervous? Doesn’t seem like a very good sales tactic.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re extremely. You know, I’d worry for my ability to read people if it wasn’t for the fact that aside from the panic attack you’re having in your head right now? I could tell what you do for a living in the eleven seconds it took me to walk up and open the door to that bar.”

It was either the worst compliment ever, or it wasn’t meant to be one at all. Mike winced, his mouth going completely dry from self-disgust.

“How did I—”

"Loitering,” Harvey continued. “Only making eye contact with men, biting your lips, leaning against the building with your legs spread, and just generally looking young and desperate. Yeah, you got the look down, kid.”

“Oh.”

Harvey circled him predatorily once or twice. “I’m losing interest,” he sighed.

“What?” Mike’s head snapped up. “Wait, no, I’m really—I’m really good, I promise.”

“Yeah? Take your clothes off and prove it.”

Time was money, and Mike couldn’t afford to waste any more of it. He tugged his shirt up over his head, dropped it on the floor and pushed his jeans down beside it.

He’d never been especially insecure, or at least, he’d always been too drunk to really care about anything, the least of which being whether or not he was hot enough. But that was back when he was eating, and before _the incident,_ which meant he was selling himself while he was terrifyingly lucid for the first time.

And he could _feel_ all of his flaws as the man looked him over like a wolf inspecting a fragile deer.

He held his breath.

At first glance, he thought that the man being ridiculously good looking would make things easier. Turns out, not the case. In fact, all that meant was that here was a person Mike would willingly sleep with if they’d have any interest in him outside of sex. But instead, he was getting paid for it, like he was a slot machine some rich guy was putting money into because that was how much this man wanted to ensure he never, ever had to see Mike again.

 _That_ was depressing.

“Can I have the money first.”

Not the smoothest words out of Mike’s mouth, and not even phrased as a question either. It was sort of an afterthought that became verbal, something of a sobriety-based fear response to having a complete stranger – a much stronger stranger at that – putting their hands all over you.

“You think that’s how this works?” Harvey’s laugh was warm and breathy, more amused than annoyed. He steered Mike backwards with large hands on the sharp outlines of a ribcage.

“Money first,” Mike insisted weakly, putting on his brakes about three feet from a massive king size bed.

“Where are you going to put it? Your pockets are on my living room floor.”

When Mike opened his mouth again, Harvey cut him off with a deep, controlling kiss. “Just relax, Mike. You’re getting paid, trust me.”

 _Trust me._ It was such a bizarre thing for someone in Harvey’s position to say to someone in Mike’s, and yet Mike had heard that line over and over and over. He had an angry, mentally-rehearsed speech on the topic, ready and waiting to burst from his lungs, but he held back as always. The fact of the matter was that he needed to get paid – at all costs.

This wasn’t a fight worth having – this man wasn’t the puppeteer of all the men who had treated him like shit, like the object he’d marketed himself as. So Mike just looked up, took a deep breath, and said, “Okay.”

 

Somewhere between ragged breaths and panting and the subtle creaking of an otherwise mechanically faultless bed, Mike looked up and asked, “What’s your name?”

Quizzically, Harvey just looked down, bracing himself around Mike’s shoulders, his movements never faltering.

“You never—” Mike gasped. “Told me your— _name.”_

“You don’t need to know it,” Harvey hissed.

Mike wasn’t satisfied, but he knew better than to push. That always made an _unlikely_ tip a _definitely no_ tip.

But when he felt Harvey’s hand at hips, and nails scraping his back, and his muscles drawing tight, it occurred to Mike that as long as he’d been resorting to sketchy sex to pay the bills – he’d never felt anything remotely pleasurable from it.

“What— _what_ are you doing?” He stared at up at Harvey, slack-jawed and shaking.

“What does it feel like I’m doing, kid?”

“It feels like— _oh god—”_

“Exactly.”

Mike had one hand in a death grip on the sheets, the other nearly breaking the skin on the man’s bicep. “Please tell me your name,” he begged, breaths hard and sharp and coming loose between every other whimper and whine. “Plea— _please._ I wanna say it.”

Giving in, Mike realized, was a good look for the man. His expression of pure, carnal, lust- soaked sex focus softened into something a little… _less,_ and he calmed, and relented.

“Harvey,” he breathed.

 _“Harvey,”_ Mike echoed, tipping their foreheads against each other. He buried his face into Harvey’s neck and held on, trying to hold back all the sounds he was making, out of habit, because nine times out of ten the request was _be quiet_ or even _shut up._

Harvey didn’t seem to mind though. The grip he had on Mike’s wrists was certain, but when Mike tested the restraint out of instinct, he was able to slip his hands away. Relief flooded over him in waves, and he brought one leg up to wrap around Harvey’s hip, almost in gratitude.

It occurred to Mike that this was the only sex he’d had in a long time that qualified as entirely consensual. Illegal, but consensual.

When it was over, and Harvey’s weight settled on him, mouth pressed against his neck, rough breathing gradually slowing down, Mike ran his hands up Harvey’s back and rested them just under his arms, holding him without it being too obvious he was _holding him._

Then reality crashed down, hard, and he prepped himself for the inevitable. For cash being slapped in his hand, for the hollow look he’d receive in return – or no look at all, like he was worthy of fucking but not of being seen – and the moment he’d have to walk out into the cold, alone, back to his shitty apartment, and emotionally ready himself to do it all over again the next night.

So when Harvey pushed off him and disappeared into the bathroom, Mike sat up, ignoring the ache in his body, swung his legs over the side of the bed and went on a mission to find his clothes.

He was nearly done half a minute later, pulling on his clothes in the dark with practiced ease.

“You don’t want to take a shower?”

Harvey’s voice was low and a little raspy, but somehow still smooth under it all, like railroad tracks made of velvet, and Mike paused with his fingers on his zipper.

“W-what?”

“A shower,” Harvey repeated, like he hadn’t just asked a question Mike had never heard before. He was in boxers, with a towel in his hands, skin still a little sticky and sweat-sheened. “You wanna take one?”

Nervously, Mike looked back, scanning Harvey’s expression and his body language for signs that this was a joke, or a trick, or some malicious scheme to get him naked again, possibly in an even more vulnerable situation than he’d been on his back in the man’s bed.

As beautiful and as painfully attractive as Harvey was, Mike didn’t want to have sex again. He was tired. Not just tired, but weighted down with a bone-deep exhaustion. He already knew, deep inside under a barrel of straw, that he had a lot more of these nights before he could afford to take a day off. Fortunately – if he could still find a silver lining – he still had a little time before his financial deadlines. Which meant the money he was making tonight could go to half-stocking his cupboards.

“Okay,” he said quietly, wishing just for a split second that the man could read his thoughts; that he might show a little mercy. Either way, Mike desperately wanted that shower; one that wasn’t just a frigid, low-pressure stream like the one at home.

Harvey nodded back into the bedroom. “Alright then. Come on, kid.”

 

Mike suppressed his awe once inside Harvey’s bathroom. He looked around but kept it low-key and subtle, like he wasn’t still baffled that some people lived like that, while others lived like him.

There was the flip of the faucet, and then in ten seconds Mike could feel the steam beside him, escaping around the part of the glass door that wasn’t fully closed.

“If it’s too hot, turn it left.”

Nodding, Mike stepped in. Water ran over him from the top and the sides, like some sort of hot, cascading spring. He had about one minute to consider this might be heaven, and then two strong arms were winding around his chest, tugging him backwards.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

He nodded wildly. “Yeah.”

Harvey hummed against his neck, and Mike swore he could feel him smile. Suddenly, he felt at ease, something he hadn’t felt in God knows how long. It was a complete 180 from the frightened, on-edge, anxious cycle he was always trapped in.

“You should charge more,” Harvey whispered, while he was running soapy hands up and down Mike’s sides. “Way more.”

Mike didn’t think the suggestion came from a bad place – it was a hell of a lot nicer than most of the shit he heard on a regular basis – but he’d been two seconds away from two seconds of feeling like he wasn’t just a whore in someone’s bathroom before those words shattered that delusion.

There wasn’t really any response for it, so he said nothing.

Harvey kept his hands on him, but the shower ended without him asking for more than Mike could give.

 

Mike stared at the crisp, folded t-shirt being extended to him. He continued staring at it like it was a space object until Harvey waved it impatiently.

“What good is a shower if you’re going to put that filthy shirt back on? Take this, kid. It’s probably – definitely – too big, but it’s clean.”

“…Thanks.” Mike accepted the shirt slowly and graciously. It smelled like laundry detergent and cologne and maybe it was even brand new, he couldn’t tell. All he did know was that it was clean and soft and the extra material around his shoulders offered warmth he wasn’t used to.

Harvey went into the kitchen and Mike had one sock and one shoe on when he returned, holding a glass of water. Mike had never been so thirsty in his life. In fact, he’d never admit it, but the water he’d drank in the shower while his back was turned…that hadn’t been enough.

“Here,” Harvey announced, wallet in hand. He passed a folded number of bills toward Mike.

_This is it._

Disguising a shaky breath by reaching up, Mike took the cash and then looked down. If he focused directly on tying his shoes, Harvey wouldn’t be able to read the shame on his face. Then again, it’d probably been there all along. He told himself that he was just noticing all of this now because his blood alcohol level wasn’t through the roof.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

It wasn’t until he was halfway to the door that he subtly counted the money in his hands.

He stopped.

“This is…”

Harvey cut him off. “I know.”

“But I didn’t—” Mike looked between Harvey and the money, confused. He’d asked for ninety – this was over ten times that. He’d never made that much in a week, let alone one night. In fact, he didn’t even want to imagine what he’d have to start doing if he wanted to continue.

“Look, kid, you’re selling yourself short. You hang around this part of the City for a reason. Next time a guy in a 600,000 dollar car asks you how much you cost, you don’t say sixty bucks, or all you’re gonna get is sixty bucks.” Harvey smirked, but there was something bitter and disapproving in it. “And maybe a ride to the Hudson by way of a trunk, but that’s another story.”

Mike prickled at the disdain. Standing that close to an exit, with the money in his waistband, he felt safe enough to take a stand.

“You just paid me a thousand dollars for sex. Now you’re gonna tell me how much I should charge? Oh, but that doesn’t matter in the long run because I’m also going to get murdered?” Mike stopped to scoff. “Hypocrite.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. …Sorry. I’m gonna go now.”

Harvey set his water down hard on the counter. “Hold on a second, kid.”

Mike sighed, wishing not for the first time that he could teleport to his own shitty bed.

“Before you call me hypocrite for trying to help you take a night off from this? Take a look in the mirror.” Harvey came to stand in front of him, looking more than prepared for this face-off; like he’d been silently challenging Mike to start it from the beginning. “Now, I’m not here to tell you to find a real job and—”

“I _have_ a real job!” Mike snapped. “This is my _second job._ ” He motioned around the room. “But I can see you don’t know what one of those is.”

“No, I don’t,” Harvey conceded, taking a few steps closer. “But I’ll tell you what I do know.”

“Knock yourself out.”

“I know that you didn’t think twice about getting in my car because you were desperate. I also know you didn’t put your seatbelt on because you know there’s always the possibility you might need to open the door and get out. You looked at every street sign between the bar and this building, which means at some point you’ve learned the hard way to always know where someone is taking you.”

Mike swallowed dryly and looked down. Harvey barreled on.

“You checked every door we walked through for locks. No, you’re not that subtle.” He almost smiled at the boy’s predictability. “But you walked through anyway, didn’t you? Then you took every shred of humanity I gave you but with a massive dose of suspicion, which tells me it’s backfired on you before, big time. Which begs the question, why do you keep doing this?”

 _“Because_ I need to—”

“Rhetorical question,” Harvey interrupted. “Not done yet. I know why you keep doing this. The fact that your clothes are too small but they’re also too big tells me you haven’t eaten in about six months. Even if all you’re pulling in is sixty dollars a night, surely that’s more than enough to buy food. Which can only mean that _this_ money is for something else. So, what is it? Rent?”

“I pay rent with my other job.”

“Okay, then. School. You spent half your time in my living room staring at law books. Either you’re in school, or you dropped out of school, or you wanted to go but never had the chance.”

Mike looked up, and his face was flushed and forlorn, eyes glassy. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’m not trying to interrogate you, Mike,” Harvey explained, tone softening. “I’m not telling you to go out and snap your fingers and get your life on track. Because that _would_ make me a hypocrite. What I’m trying to do is figure out how the hell you got in this situation.”

“It’s not school,” Mike said. “I went but I…I had to quit. I just…I got behind on bills and stuff and I just…I was broke. I was dealing drugs but I got caught and I couldn’t…I couldn’t make it, so I—”

“Bullshit.”

_“What?”_

“This probably won’t come as a shock to you, but I’ve picked up a hooker before. Much more confident, by the way, though admittedly not as hot. Point is, once you reach this level, self-preservation is out the window. You went against all your survival instincts tonight, and I don’t even want to know how many other times you’ve done the same thing, but you didn’t do it without thinking about the consequences.”

Harvey paused, staring Mike down, watching him crack one cruel, brutally honest observation at a time. “Now, no offense, but you don’t seem like you have a very high opinion of yourself. Something tells me you’re not hoping to God every jerk you run into isn’t John Gacy because you enjoy your own company so much.”

Mike bit down on hard on his trembling bottom lip.

“Door’s right behind you,” Harvey reminded him. “But I think you’ve been dying to tell someone. And I’m listening. So what is it?”

“I…” Mike shook his head, but courage wasn’t something he had in heavy supply anymore. When he finally forced the words out, his voice cracked with tears and ultimately just…fell apart. “I have—” he gasped a little and brought his hand to cover his face. _“I have a kid.”_

Harvey was silent. Eventually – and not sounding entirely surprised – he said, “A kid.”

Mike nodded frantically, still covering his face. “A son. He’s three. I don’t—I’m really sorry, I just need to go. Right now.”

“Mike, wait.”

Hesitating, shaky hand on the door, Mike turned.

“Where is he now? Your son?”

“With a babysitter. I, uh…there’s a teenaged girl in the building across from mine. It’s…a little newer, cleaner than where I live. She watches him for me at night. I don’t have to pay her that much. And I…I can take him to my day job most of the time.”

“And when you can’t?”

“I call out,” Mike admitted.

“And then you don’t get paid,” Harvey realized. “Vicious cycle.”

“Something like that.”

“He’s with the sitter now?”

“Yeah.”

“Has he eaten tonight?”

Mike nodded quickly and defensively. _“Yes._ I _always_ make sure—”

“Have you?”

“What?”

“You, Mike. Have _you_ eaten today? Or yesterday?”

“No,” he admitted quietly, staring at the floor.

“Do you want to?”

“What?”

“I asked if you want something to eat.”

“You’re going to...feed me?”

Harvey shrugged. “You can leave and go to the store and buy food and go home and wake up your son at—” He stopped and looked at his watch. “One a.m. …Or you can stay here and eat. Your call, kid.”

Slowly, Mike stepped away from the door. “Okay.”

“Okay you’ll stay?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. What do you like?”

Mike looked confused. He wasn’t used to getting options. “Uh. Anything, really.”

“I’m not a bad cook,” Harvey told him. “But something tells me you’d rather not wait another hour. So I can order something instead. What do you want?”

“I…I don’t know.”

Harvey sighed. “It pains me to say this, but I think the fastest delivery around here is pizza. Good?”

Mike could feel his stomach turning in anticipation. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s…that would be good.”

 

If someone had told him he’d be sitting on a couch having dinner with some guy he’d just fucked for 900 dollars, Mike would’ve laughed and then probably cried. But here he was, trying not to choke himself on a slice of pizza.

He could practically _feel_ his glucose rising with each bite.

Across from him, Harvey was looking back expectantly.

“How long?”

 “Uh, what?”

“How long have you been selling yourself?”

The question was bold, straight to the point. Not enough to temper Mike’s appetite, but he did look down, averting his eyes. “Um...like a year, I guess.”

Harvey nodded, taking Mike’s reaction as a good reason to change the subject. He cleared his throat, “Your son. What’s his name?”

Mike visibly perked up, wondering if Harvey could tell how the question had made him feel like he was being spoken to as a person and not a thing - for the first time in, well, _ever_. “Sam,” he said softly, smiling just a little.

“You’re raising him alone?”

“Yeah. His mother is...well...we were in high school, we were young, it just got really overwhelming, so...she’s not in the picture.”

Harvey chewed slowly and nodded, and Mike worried that he’d said too much; that Harvey wasn’t that interested in hearing about his life. If Harvey’s compassion stopped here, Mike would understand.

“How old are you, Mike?”

Mike felt a little relief that Harvey was still talking. “Twenty.”

He heard Harvey sigh, watched the man wipe his mouth with a napkin, and stand up. He didn’t comment on Mike’s answer, but asked, “Do you want a soda?”

“Please.”

 

They finished eating and it wasn’t as strange as Mike would’ve expected -- that is, if he'd ever expected to be in this situation in the first place. He carefully asked Harvey questions, which Harvey answered without pause, giving short but seemingly honest responses; almost as though he wanted someone to talk to as much as Mike did.

Once they were done, Mike thanked him again, they exchanged awkward nods, and he left.

And then, about three steps away from the man’s condo, Mike looked up and sighed. Typically, when he left a client, all he felt was relief, but tonight...tonight it felt more like disappointment. And when he ran his fingers over the money in his pocket, it didn’t make him feel any better.

He accepted the fact that he’d never see Harvey again, the money would run out, reality would crash back down. He hadn’t left his number, nor had Harvey asked for it, because really, who put their hookers on speed dial? It was a one-time deal. So Mike took it for what it was: a fleeting moment of actual companionship that hadn’t felt entirely forced.

Then he gave Harvey’s building one last glance, and walked away.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, I lied...this accidentally became three chapters (I should really plan ahead better. oops) Title is from The Gambler, obviously. originally this story was just my way of making Mike sad and pitiful and having Harvey rescue him, as usual, but I didn't want it to get too Pretty Woman and I decided I liked the idea of them both finding...comfort in each other, because they're both lonely but they won't admit it, and they have more in common than they think.
> 
> (added tags. The implied abuse is not between Harvey and Mike, but alluding to past incidents where Mike went home with people who didn't respect his limits. It doesn't go into detail but I figured I'd add the tag just in case, especially since it's a sensitive topic for me and I'd want to know.)
> 
> onward.

_You never count your money_  
_While you’re sitting at the table_  
_There’ll be time enough for counting_  
_When the deal is done_

 

_*_

It was fun to read people, to size them up, so that’s what Harvey had done. He hadn’t planned any further ahead than simply taking some pity on Mike, giving him a meal, and then parting ways. But two days later, something was still nagging at Harvey's conscience.

He sat at his desk, lost in thought, with the end of a pen pressed far too hard into his lip. There was more to the shame in Mike’s eyes than the obvious reasons the kid probably had, and Harvey had known that from the instant he picked him up, and he hated himself more than a little for exploiting it before finding out what it was, especially when Mike’s confession didn’t surprise him all that much. In fact, it had been on Harvey’s list of possibilities - that Mike was trying to support someone other than himself - the entire time.

But Harvey didn’t have a high enough degree of self-loathing to keep him from wanting to do it again. So he left work with one goal in mind: to find Mike later that night and get a repeat performance.

 

There were plenty of people congregating outside of the bar at 9:30, but none of them had blonde hair and blue eyes. They all looked relatively happy, well-fed, and on their way to drunkenness. Harvey wrinkled his nose, went inside, and ordered his usual: scotch, straight up.

He watched a muted television above the bar, tuned out the background noise, and his thoughts drifted between work and Mike and the way being inside him had felt, and, how calming and oddly easy it had been to talk to him. Like someone was asking Harvey questions about his life, and genuinely wanted to hear his answers, even if he’d been too guarded and cautious to give away very much.

Eventually, after an hour of overthinking and glancing out the window, he paid his tab and left the building. He didn’t feel especially unwound from the week, but the light haze of liquor was helping a little.

 

Looking around, he still didn’t see Mike, and part of him knew he should hope the kid didn’t have to fuck another stranger tonight. He knew he should hope that Mike was working at his other job - whatever that one was; hopefully a legal, less risky one - or that he was home with his son. But Harvey looked at his watch and sighed out of disappointment anyway.

He didn’t make picking up hookers a habit, but he’d done it more than once - more than ten times, actually, although not in quick succession, rather over the span of months. He wasn’t particularly proud of it, but it was a convenient alternative to getting wrapped up in complicated situations where someone wanted a relationship that he wasn’t ready to have. Even one night stands were, interestingly enough, even _more_ awkward. Mostly when both parties were drunk, and the sex wasn’t planned, and ended up being relatively unsatisfying. When he was paying, at least he could request whatever he wanted, and there was always already a mutual understanding that the person would leave immediately after.

Not that things had been quite that simple or routine with Mike, but for some reason, Harvey was okay with the turn things had taken. In fact, he’s the one who had set them in motion, because he couldn’t bring himself keep his mouth shut about all the things he’d noticed about Mike, which he found both sad and fascinating at the same time.

As he was prying himself from his memory - and replay - of the night before, and about to give up and cross the street toward his car, a familiar figure in his peripheral vision caught his eye, stopping him cold.

Mike seemed to notice him at the exact same time. They looked at each other for a long ten seconds or so, before one of them moved. It was Mike who initiated the approach, which surprised Harvey a little, but shouldn’t have, given Mike was out to make money, and boldness was the tactic needed to do that. He wondered if Mike had resorted to drinking again to numb his fears, especially if it was going to be someone else who propositioned him tonight.

But once Mike was standing in front of him - _really close_ in front of him - Harvey could see, with the help of the streetlight above him, that Mike’s eyes were clear and bright. And he couldn’t smell any alcohol on his breath.

“Hey.”

Mike gave a small smile in return, which Harvey realized he’d only seen on his face once in the several hours they’d spent together. He looked less tense, less suspicious, less ready to bolt.

“Do you…” Harvey swallowed, eyes darting up and down. Mike was in a tight shirt and even tighter jeans, and Harvey’s mouth went a little dry because he’d seen him underneath it all. “Do you want to…”

Mike looked down a little but whispered, “Yeah.”

So Harvey nodded over his shoulder at his car, and when he turned to walk away, Mike followed close behind.

 

*

“Were you looking for me?” asked Mike, standing in Harvey’s living room, looking slightly less nervous.

Harvey shrugged. “Were you looking for _me?”_

“Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“Still had to work either way.”

“Fair enough.”

This time, Harvey didn’t pour any liquor, and didn’t offer Mike any either. Instead he just motioned him to the couch, where they both sat down, a few feet away, bodies angled toward one another.

“You don’t look like you’ve slept since I saw you last.”

Mike didn’t look offended. He just studied Harvey’s face and replied, “Neither do you.” Then he paused, a little worried. “But I can still…I mean, I can still do whatever you want. I’m not even really that tired--”

“I believe you,” Harvey told him. “You worked at your other job today?”

Mike nodded.

“Can I ask where that is?”

“Uhh…I don’t...I don’t really want to say.”

“Drug related? You mentioned something about drugs last night. I didn’t think you were lying, I just knew it wasn’t the real reason you--”

“It’s not drug related,” Mike interrupted softly.

“Then what?” Harvey pressed. “No offense, kid, but it can’t be worse than this job, and I'm not going to tell anyone what you moonlight as.”

“It’s…” Mike sighed and gave in. “I’m a paralegal. I…”

“No shit. You didn’t tell me because...?”

“Why would I? You’re a lawyer, I thought you’d be..I don’t know, pissed off that I’m...desecrating the sanctity of law by selling myself on the side. I just don’t like to associate, you know, _this_ with that.”

Harvey eventually nodded. “Understood.”

“I wanted to go to law school...I was pre-law, actually…” Mike continued carefully, not sure when Harvey would want him to shut up and take off his clothes. “But, then I dropped out and...well, the rest is history, I guess.”

There was a thick silence between them, heavier even than the night before, and it stretched on for an agonizing two minutes, until Harvey finally spoke again.

“How much do you want tonight?”

And Mike’s stomach sank. He wasn’t sure why, exactly, since he needed to get paid and he’d planned on making it happen like any other night, regardless of whoever wanted to take him home. A slight relief had washed over him when it turned out to be Harvey. Maybe it was because the man had done something as simple as feed him, speak to him as if he was a sentient being, give him an orgasm. Or if it was just because he seemed unlikely to be the person who might kill him. That is, unless Harvey was just gaining his trust first.

Still, in just the first few minutes of talking with Harvey tonight, Mike had once again disillusioned himself of the reason he was actually there. He’d never let that happen with any other client. Harvey was different, although Mike wasn’t sure why. Either way, whatever fantasy he had about having a normal conversation about life with another human was shattered again by Harvey’s hollow words.

Mike reverted into machine mode. “You don’t have to give me as much as you did before.”

“Maybe I want something else tonight.”

“Tell me what it is and how much you’ll pay me. Then I’ll tell you if I’ll do it.”

“Bold,” Harvey said, smirking. “Not the person I saw in my living room last night.”

“You told me I wasn’t confident enough. So…” Mike tossed up his hands. “Here you go.”

“Good. You’re not shaking, either. That’s a plus.”

“I figured you probably wouldn’t be the one to kill me. I mean, most serial killers don’t buy you pizza first, right?”

“Maybe that’s my modus operandi.”

Mike glanced up and stiffened.

“I’m joking, kid.” Harvey leaned back into the cushions and laughed. “I’m not going to kill you. Can’t fuck a dead person.”

“Maybe you’re a necrophiliac.”

“I’m not, but all the guys you’ve slept with, I’m sure you met a few and didn’t know it.”

Mike winced a little and Harvey sighed.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s true.”

Slightly apologetic, but too curious not to ask, Harvey delved deeper into the subject. “How many?”

“How many people have I slept with? Seriously?”

“Just wondering. You said it’s been a year. Thought you might have a rough estimate.”

Mike scoffed. “I try not to keep track. But if you give me a couple hours, a bottle of vodka, and a calculator, I could probably tally it up for you.”

“I recant. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m used to it and it doesn’t really matter anymore, so…do you want to just…?”

“Yeah.” Harvey motioned for Mike to slide a little closer, telling him casually, “I want you to suck me off and swallow. I’m assuming you’ve done it before.”

Mike swallowed dryly. “You won’t believe me, but actually no.”

“I believe you. But you’ve been asked a lot, I bet.”

“Never offered to pay extra for it, surprisingly. Just got angry and made things especially...enjoyable for me.”

“I’m sure,” Harvey said, but he didn’t want to talk or think about that, so he cut to the chase. “So, last night...plus 300. Including fucking you, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“Deal?”

Mike nodded once. “Closed,” he replied, slowly dropping to the floor, making his way in between Harvey’s legs. He reached for Harvey’s belt, skillfully unfastening it in almost one motion, and tugging on his jeans and boxers.

Harvey helped Mike pull them down to his ankles by lifting his lips. Then he had the forethought to reach for a pillow. “Kneel on this,” he said.

Mike took it and put it under his knees, which eliminated the way the floor dug into his bones. He looked up at Harvey with a slight smirk. “Are you deducting this from my pay?”

“I might, if you don’t hurry up,” Harvey replied, even though he’d nearly laughed and he knew Mike could tell.

He slid his fingers through Mike’s hair, held a few tufts of it gently, and sighed when Mike leaned forward and took him into his mouth. Harvey expected him to be good at it - a year of heavy experience was a evidence enough of that - but imagining it and feeling it were two completely different things.

Five minutes in and Harvey was biting his teeth and already trying to hold back, grateful that when he tugged a little, Mike got the message and slowed down, swirling his tongue more lightly, and drawing things out.

Harvey leaned back a little more, revelling in the sensation and sight of his cock disappearing in and out of Mike’s mouth, and the sounds of Mike sucking and whining around it. Closer and closer to the edge, Harvey guided himself further inside, carefully testing Mike’s gag reflex, to discover that...he didn’t have much of one.

_Fuck,_ he thought, and nudged Mike with his knee. Mike pulled off his cock with a pop and looked up, eyes a little unfocused, lips shiny with spit, and all Harvey could think was that all the money he was throwing at this kid was completely worth it.

He stared into Mike’s eyes for a few seconds and then asked, “Can I…?”

Mike knew what he meant right away, and nodded, letting Harvey guide him forward again. This time Harvey pushed deeper inside before easing Mike off, and then deeper, again and again, and Mike took it like a pro - which, Harvey reminded himself, he kind of was. But it was when he was halfway down Mike’s throat and Mike _swallowed_ around him, that he lost it, all his muscles tensing, the grip he had in Mike’s hair tightening.

He put his free in front of his own mouth to keep most of the sounds he was making relatively dignified, and then he whispered a muffled _Fuck_ into his palm.

Mike let himself be held in place as Harvey came, in back of his mouth, but not so far back that Mike couldn’t feel or taste it. He had the feeling Harvey would want to watch the show up until the very end, so he waited until Harvey sighed one last time, and then Mike sat back. He darted his tongue out, kept his lips parted enough so Harvey could see the mouthful of saliva and come in resting on it.

“Jesus Christ, Mike.” Harvey ran a shaky hand through Mike’s hair, repeatedly, almost uncontrollably, and drank in the sight of Mike’s throat contracting as he swallowed. And he saw Mike’s hand come up, presumably to wipe off his face, before stopping, dropping it, and just licking his lips instead.

Harvey tipped his head back and breathed.

After a few seconds Mike climbed into his lap, straddling his thighs. He pressed his forehead up against Harvey’s neck and trailed his hands up and down his biceps. Tonight, for reasons Mike couldn’t pinpoint - naivete or lack of self-preservation, or both - Harvey’s visible, palpable strength didn’t frighten him.

But he was still careful not to nuzzle Harvey’s shoulder for too long, in case Harvey realized what he was doing and freaked because it was way too intimate, in a completely different way than sex, and Mike definitely wasn’t get paid for things like this.

It was almost in gratitude, even though everything he’d just done had been for Harvey - and money, of course - but not himself. Mike couldn’t explain anything that had transpired between them in the past day and a half. He gave up trying.

“Do you still wanna fuck me?”

Harvey let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah. But you’re going to have to give me a few minutes.”

“I can get you hard again."

“I’m well aware. Let me breathe first.”

Mike grinned and looked down at Harvey’s lips. “Can I at least kiss you?”

“I thought I was the one making requests?”

Mike didn’t reply at first, because yeah, Harvey was right. But he was too turned on to really care at this point, so he just leaned in and said, “Please.”

Harvey nodded and slid his hand behind Mike’s head. “I suppose kissing’s in included, right?”

“Yeah,” Mike said quietly, and then crushed their lips together.

 

*

When Mike emerged from the bathroom, dressed and drying, Harvey was next to the nightstand, picking up his wallet.

“You always carry that much cash around? No one mugs you out on the street?”

Harvey smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Would you mug me?”

Mike nodded once. “Good point.”

Then he lingered across the room, feeling slightly awkward - and sore - as Harvey stood, shirtless and counting money.

When he handed it over - all twelve hundred of it - he didn’t look Mike in the eye. But Mike didn’t think it was out of dismissal or disgust this time, but because Harvey didn’t think of paying him as a big deal, and was silently passing the notion on to Mike that getting paid for sex wasn’t the best way to make a living -- but that he wouldn’t throw stones in glass houses - literally - and it wasn’t some reprehensible sin Mike was going to hell for like society wanted him to believe.

Mike quietly sighed in relief, and followed Harvey out of the bedroom.

He wasn’t sure if he should go straight out the door, or wait - for what, he wasn’t sure - but he didn’t feel particularly rushed. He wondered if maybe Harvey was planning to pounce on him with another Spanish Inquisition. Part of Mike dreaded it, but another part...wanted Harvey to talk to him, in whatever capacity he would.

And, before the silence got too unsettlingly, Harvey did. He held up a bottle of water from the other side of the counter. “Here.”

Mike took it as a the offer it was, walking over and accepting it from Harvey’s outstretched hand.

He guzzled it a little quicker than he intended, which was out of general thirst - as usual - but when Harvey stared, Mike just shot him a look that was clearly code for _What? I had your dick in my mouth for fifteen minutes._

Harvey turned away, and after a few minutes, Mike decided it was time to just bite the bullet. They were done. He had his money. No reason to lose himself in unattainable thoughts of potentially being more to someone than a paid fuck.

“Uh...should I go now?”

“I don’t know.” Harvey turned back to face Mike. “Should you?”

Mike rolled his eyes. “I have no idea what that means, but I’ll take it as a yes.”

He was about to head to the door, more than a little dejected but trying to keep that concealed, when Harvey called out.

“What I meant was, do you have to be home tonight? For...Sam.”

“I…” Mike paused, because Harvey had said his son’s name. Which meant he’d _remembered_ it. Which meant he hadn’t entirely forgotten or ignored their conversation, which meant he’d listened to what Mike had had to say and...actually _heard_ him. Mike was pretty sure that hadn’t happened with anyone else, ever.

“If you do, it’s okay.”

“No, I don’t. He’s...with the sitter. I don’t usually wake him up when I get home...late.”

“Okay, well,” Harvey opened the fridge and continued casually, as if he hadn’t just passed Mike a shit ton of cash in return for all the filthy things they’d just done in his bed. “I have leftovers, if you’re interested in staying to eat.”

Mike just stared. This was happening again? He thought last night had been a fluke; Harvey only inviting him to stay in order to satisfy whatever personality test he’d been putting him through.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say you haven’t eaten today. Am I right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then if you want to stay, you can.”

Mike wasn’t entirely sure what _stay_ meant. Stay for the food? Stay for the night? He’d take either, though, so he nodded wildly. “Yeah, I...I want to.”

“Good. Sit.”

“I don’t think I can yet.”

Harvey laughed, and thought, _success._ “We’ll stand then.”

He heated up the food, pulling out plates, silverware, and drinks, and Mike just watched, a little mesmerized at how virtually everything Harvey did was done with grace. It wasn’t messy and reckless like every action in _Mike’s_ life, but Mike didn’t envy it, he just admired it. From a safe distance.

 

At first, they ate in silence. Mostly because they had their mouths too full to talk. But halfway through the meal, Harvey spoke.

“Your job,” he said, and Mike knew he was alluding to his...day job. “How long? Have you worked there, I mean.”

“Like six months,” Mike replied. “I had this internship when I was in college, at a different firm...” He paused and frowned. “I don’t...I don’t know why I mentioned that.”

“It’s okay.”

“What about you?”

Harvey laughed. “How long have I been a lawyer?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you just ask me how old I am? I know you’re dying to.”

“I don’t…” Mike _did_ want to know. But ultimately it didn’t matter. And if Harvey just told him how long he’d been lawyer, he could do the math in his head in five seconds anyway. “I mean, I do. Want to know. But I was just wondering about the work thing.”

“I graduated in ‘97,” Harvey admitted. “Satisfied?”

Mike nodded, hiding his grin behind his glass of juice as he drank. “How old were you? I mean, when you graduated.” When Harvey hesitated, Mike added, “I wanted to know if I still...have time, I guess. Like, if I ever got to go back to school.”

“I was twenty-seven.” Harvey looked across the table at Mike and shook his head. “You’re twenty, Mike. All you have is time, trust me.”

 

The conversation continued, at an easy pace, a gentle back and forth of questions. Harvey answered in a little more detail than he had the night before, and for a few seconds it made him uneasy - like he’d revealed too much about himself. But he knew Mike was harmless enough, and it wasn’t like he was baring his soul or anything.

When they were done eating, and the talking died down, Harvey cleared the plates and Mike finally took it as a cue that he should probably see himself out.

But he stopped and took a deep breath. There was something he’d wanted to ask Harvey, but didn’t feel comfortable asking before their discussion. In fact, he still didn’t really comfortable, but he figured it was worth a shot.

“Can I ask you something?”

Harvey turned away from the sink to look back at Mike, who was slowly gravitating toward the door. “Shoot.”

“It’s not a big deal but...I was just wondering if…”

“Mike, I don’t bite. What is it?”

“Actually, you did. A few times.”

“Well played,” Harvey conceded. “Look, whatever it is, I’ll say yes or no. Either way, you’ll probably survive.”

Mike pointed toward the living room. “Those books,” he began. “Do you...use them?”

“You mean are they there for show?”

“I mean, have you read them all or do they just sorta sit there.”

“They’ve sat there for about thirteen years. They’re textbooks.”

“You don’t seem like the sentimental type.”

Harvey smiled at Mike’s observation skills. Maybe he could read people too, and that meant there was now a small list beginning of ways in which they were unexpectedly similar. 

“I guess it’s an exception. What about them?”

“I was wondering if I could borrow one. I’d bring it back, like tomorrow, I can memorize it. Or I mean, if you don’t want to see me again I could just...send it back.” Harvey wasn’t saying anything and Mike started to feel like an idiot. “I could give you some of your money back.”

“First of all,” Harvey said after a few seconds, and Mike relaxed a little, “It’s not my money anymore. They’re not worth anything anyway. You’re welcome to borrow them, but the laws have changed since I went to law school.”

“I know. I just want something to read and, well, I don’t have any of the ones I had.”

“I’m guessing you sold them?”

“Yeah.”

“Come here.”

Mike followed when Harvey headed into the living room, coming to a halt before a large, mahogany shelf packed tight with books. Everything from contracts to litigation to torts and pretty much the whole spectrum of law in alphabetical order. They were old and worn, and definitely obsolete by now, but Mike didn’t care. 

“You can take whatever ones you want,” Harvey told him. “The ones on top are a little newer.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, kid. You said something about memorizing them?”

Mike scanned the line of book spines and gingerly pulled out the ones that caught his eye. Then he turned to Harvey and nodded. “Yeah, I can just memorize them and then I could get them back to you tomorrow.”

“You’re going to memorize three books in one day?”

“Well, maybe a couple days, if that’s okay.”

Harvey was staring at him skeptically.

“Oh, I, uh, have a photographic memory,” Mike explained, like it was no big deal. “Not really photographic, but yeah, I can memorize what I read pretty fast.”

“I might test you on that. You’ll pass?"

“With flying colors.”

“You seem pretty sure of yourself,” Harvey said.

“It’s the one thing I’m good at.” Mike caught himself and stopped. “You know what I mean.”

“Look, take the books, Mike. I don’t need them.”

Mike clutched them tightly to his side. “Thanks.”

When Harvey returned to the kitchen, Mike decided he’d probably - definitely - overstayed his welcome, so once again, he started to leave.

This time it was Harvey who stopped him, asking quietly, “Do you always scout outside the same bar?”

“High traffic,” Mike said. “So usually. Why?”

“Just wondering.”

“I won’t be there tomorrow but I could still--”

Harvey looked back at Mike with a gentle smile and just shook his head. “I’m sure I’ll run into you at some point. You want a jacket?”

Mike looked down at his tight, threadbare shirt. It was cold out, but he always skipped a sweatshirt because covering up that much wasn’t good for business.

“You look cold,” Harvey commented. “It’s making _me_ cold.” He crossed Mike’s path and lifted the coat he’d worn to the bar off of a hook. “Take this.”

“Are you kidding me?” Mike looked at it with wide eyes. “That’s...that’s new. And way too expensive. I--I can’t take that.”

“I have about five of them. Take it.”

Mike took the coat from Harvey’s hand and thanked him. It was way too big when Mike put it on, but that made it all the more warm. “For the books too,” he added. “And, you know.”

“You’re welcome. It’s late, kid. I know you’re street smart but...be careful anyway.”

No one had told Mike that in, well, not since his parents died, he realized. In fact, before he had his son he wasn’t sure anyone else even knew he existed, let alone cared how he was faring on his thirty-five minute winter commute.

Suddenly, he felt a surge of affection for the man in front of him, and with an accompanying ounce of courage, Mike crowded into Harvey’s space and kissed him.

Harvey was still at first, his brain catching up with what was happening, but eventually he kissed back. Mike’s hands were running up and down his chest, over his exposed skin, and Harvey had to stop this before it went too far.

“Mike,” he whispered.

Mike pulled away, slightly horrified with himself. “Sorry,” he said, breathless. “I’m sorry, I just.”

It was a given that after money exchanged hands, there was no more physical contact. Especially not a slow kiss that was unmistakably out of affection and gratitude. But then again, it was also unorthodox to eat dinner with a client and talk about his life and borrow books and take a winter coat.

The rules were starting to blur.

“Go home, Mike,” Harvey said.

He didn’t sound angry, not at all, and he wasn’t. Tired, but not angry. He squeezed Mike’s shoulder, and walked away.

Mike left without another word.

 

*

It wasn’t until Mike was outside and halfway down the block that he stuffed his hands into the pockets of Harvey’s coat and realized... _shit._

He pulled out a sleek cell phone, stopped in his tracks and turned around. But Harvey’s condo was locked, there was no doorman, and no call button, and it was basically Fort Knox. Considering the money in his pocket, Mike figured that was an accurate comparison.

He looked down at the screen and tried to guess the unlock pattern and look for a number to call. Harvey was rich. Maybe he had two phones. Maybe he had three. Maybe he had a landline, Mike thought hopefully, those were making a comeback, right?

But after several attempts at the password, the phone locked him out. Not knowing what else to do, Mike just sighed heavily, slipped the phone back into the pocket, and walked off.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! part 3 is halfway done. (also, I haven't abandoned my other WIPs...I'm just slowly chipping away at them)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter, but I'm getting there. :)
> 
> tags changed

 

Harvey was going mad.

Two hours into his day and he still couldn’t find his phone and he was taking it out on everyone. 

“Harvey, I don’t know where your stupid phone is. Have you check your ass for it?”

“Donna--”

“I’ll come back when Mr. Hyde is gone,” she said, and clicked away in her heels for the rest of the morning. 

Harvey retraced all his actions the previous day. He knew he’d had his phone when he left the bar. But it wasn’t on his nightstand when he woke up, which was typically where he left it. Nor was it in his pockets, or on the counter, or in the car, or--anywhere.

It was making his day more difficult than usual. 

  
  


Around noon, surrounded by files and irritated by his incompetent associate, Harvey leaned back in his chair to regroup. There was a figure walking toward his office, but he didn’t bother looking up yet, because Donna was usually there to filter out the people he didn’t want to see.

But the figure just walked right in, and Harvey’s head snapped up, and he realized Donna’s desk was still vacant, and whoever this was apparently didn’t work here because if they did, they wouldn’t have the nerve to cross the threshold out of fear for their life. Fear Harvey had ingrained in the people who annoyed him, which was essentially everyone besides Jessica and Donna. 

“Mike--?” 

“Hey, I--”

Harvey was looking up from his desk with a deep frown on his face, feeling prickly. “How the hell did you get up here?”

“Um…No one stopped me?”

The toddler Mike had in one arm was like a tiny version of him, the spitting image of his father, and he was resting his head on Mike’s shoulder, blinking back at Harvey with blue eyes, and for several seconds all Harvey could do was stare. 

Then he snapped out of it and shook his head. “Mike, I can’t have, you know,” he motioned between them,  _ “This _ ...where I work.” 

Mike stepped closer to Harvey’s desk and passed him something he’d been clutching in his free hand the whole time. “You left this in the jacket you gave me.” He hoisted Sam up a little higher on his hip. “I’m sorry if I’m...embarrassing you. I just figured you probably needed your phone.” 

With total relief flooding over him, Harvey looked down at the phone and sighed. It was full of sensitive information about work and clients, and he’d been ten minutes away from remotely wiping it clean before Mike had walked in and saved him from either huge inconvenience or a disastrous breach of confidentiality that would surely incentivize Jessica to murder him. 

 

After a minute, Harvey realized what just happened, and what’d he’d implied, and what his tone had sounded like when he’d implied it. 

He jumped up and rushed to the elevator, getting outside just before Mike got lost in a congested sidewalk full of pedestrians. 

“Mike!” 

Mike stopped, turned around, looking back at Harvey, slightly alarmed.   

“Hey.” Harvey said, a little breathless when he caught up, coming to stand a few feet away. “Look, I’m sorry if I was jerk back there--”

“It’s okay.” Mike shrugged. “I wouldn’t want me coming here either if I was you.” he surreptitiously covered Sam’s ear with his palm. “I mean, there’s no Bring Your Hooker to Work Day, right?” 

Harvey didn’t comment, just held up his phone and said, “This is a seven hundred dollar phone, you could’ve sold it, told me you never saw it--”

“I didn’t think about it like that.”

“Really? It never occurred to you to--”

“Steal it?” Mike winced. “No, Harvey, it didn’t.” 

He looked down at his son, who was touching his face and very quietly babbling and all Mike could make out of the words was that Sam was hungry.

“We’re gonna eat soon, baby,” Mike told him. “Okay?”   


Sam nodded, pressing his head against Mike again, but turning just enough to look up at Harvey.

“Mike, that didn’t come out right. I just meant...you could have, but you didn’t...anyway, thank you.”

“No problem.”

“How did you know where I work?” Harvey asked curiously, relieved that Mike didn’t look  _ too  _ offended. 

“I googled you.”

“Before or after you found my phone?”

Mike smirked. “After.” he replied. “You know, some people don’t seem to like you very much.”

“Occupational hazard.” Harvey laughed, and Sam mimicked him, giggling against Mike’s chest. 

He nodded toward the blonde-haired toddler. “He’s cute.”

The gleam of pride in Mike’s eye was instant. He glanced down at Sam and smiled before looking back up at Harvey.

“We were on our way to get lunch if you...if you can come. I mean, if you want to.” 

Harvey didn’t reply right away and Mike swallowed dryly, waiting for a ‘no’ and for the disappointment and twinge of embarrassment that would come along with hearing it. 

But then Harvey nodded once and said, “Actually, I was about to do the same thing. Where is it you’re going?”

“Probably not somewhere you’d like,” Mike admitted. Cheap burger joints didn’t look like Harvey’s usual choice. “But we’re not picky.”

Sam perked up and interrupted the conversation. “Food?” he tapped Mike’s mouth. “Dad?”

“Yeah, in a second, baby.”

Harvey motioned behind them, down the street. “I know a place.”

And then - just as the past two days - when Harvey led the way, Mike was quick to follow.    
  


*

**Friday**

 

“I want to tie you up,” Harvey announced. 

Mike lifted his face from where it was burrowed against Harvey’s shoulder, hot with sweat. 

“Well, shouldn’t you have thought of that before you just fucked me?”

“I didn’t want you tie you up during sex.” Harvey ran his hands up and down Mike’s slick, pale skin. “I want to do it after.”

“Weird. Why?”

“Is it really the weirdest thing someone wanted to do to you? And I don’t think you care why. So just name your price.”

Pausing to sit back on Harvey’s knees and just look at him for a minute, Mike tried not to think too hard about what he was asking. Another request based on some repressed kink was nothing new, in fact, what Harvey was asking for was relatively tame compared to what he’d heard from other men. Still, it was deflating him emotionally. He’d just rode Harvey until they both came, hard, and then he’d stayed in Harvey’s lap, and even in his arms, until they’d both recovered. It was amazing and hot and was over way too soon, but...Mike was hoping the night might end with them talking to each other again. Not with him being chained to a headboard, or whatever Harvey had in mind. 

Mike didn’t care about the money tonight.  But he didn’t want Harvey to kick him out either, and he’d been tied up before a few times, anyway. So he sucked it up and answered, “You already pay me way more than you have to, so just...go for it. Tie me up.”

Harvey was staring back with those deep brown eyes and Mike was trying really hard not to get lost in them. 

“Okay, come on.” Harvey leaned forward, nudging Mike off his lap. “In my room.” 

“Do I get to put my clothes back on?” 

“I’d prefer if you didn’t.” 

Mike climbed onto Harvey’s bed when he was told, lying on his back with his head on a pillow, waiting. Harvey was just looking at him, appraising his body, and then giving him a telling look that definitely meant Mike was getting paid a lot more tonight, whether he’d asked or not. 

“Slide over,” Harvey instructed, kneeling next to him.

Obediently, Mike lifted both arms over his head, and Harvey began securing his wrists together with two ties - deep blue ones that he like a lot actually, which was why he wanted to see them snug up against Mike’s milky skin. He wrapped the tail of one under and over a slat in the headboard, and knotted it several times. He’d probably - definitely - have to cut the material when this was over, but he already figured it was worth it. 

“Too tight?” he asked, leaning back.

Mike tested the restraints. The silk was smooth and cool against his bones, wrapped tight but not to the point of pain, only to the point that he definitely couldn’t slip out of it. He shook his head. “No.” 

“Good,” Harvey said, and then lied down alongside Mike, placing his hand on Mike’s stomach. 

Mike tensed under the touch, but then relaxed. He knew from past experiences that there were several possibilities in varying degrees of likelihood that he should expect to be after being tied up: choked, hit, gagged, or all of the above. He didn’t anticipate any of those things from Harvey, which was why he didn’t feel freaked, but he also didn’t expect that Harvey would just...lie down next to him. 

It felt like he was waiting for something, but Harvey didn’t move. Didn’t even touch Mike below the waist, just ran his hand up and down Mike’s stomach and chest and back again. 

“You have to untie me if I ask,” Mike said softly, breaking the silence. He didn’t have a reason to think Harvey wouldn’t let him up, but the past was still a staunch reminder of how vulnerable he was with his hands bound. 

Harvey’s eyes flicked up from where he’d been running his fingers along Mike’s ribs. “I will. You want me to now?”

“No, no, I’m fine now, I just mean…you know.”

“I know that someone hurt you at some point. I could tell, the first night I took you home.”

“Yeah.” Mike sighed. “The night you shrinked me, Freud.”

“Just made some observations,” Harvey said softly. “So, what happened? What did they do?”

“Nothing.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

Mike just shrugged, as best he could given that he was tied. “Like you said. Occupational hazard.”

He was trying to lighten the mood but Harvey could hear the pain betraying his words. 

“Anyway, it’s my fault. I mean, you go home with strangers, what do you expect, right?”

“Still not your fault,” Harvey said sternly. 

“Well...whatever.” Mike shook his head. “Not like I could go to the police and be like, ‘hey, I’m a prostitute and this guy just---’” he winced and trailed off. “Can’t do that.”

Harvey ran his hand through Mike’s hair. “I’ll untie you whenever you want, Mike. Okay?”

“Okay.” 

Satisfied, Harvey settled in even closer, palm roaming over Mike’s body, this time lower, down over the sharp point of hipbones, and smooth ivory thighs. He didn’t ignore that Mike was getting hard again, but he only just barely brushed his erection before sliding his hand back up, all the way to Mike’s collarbone, and then his throat, and finally his face. Harvey rested his fingers against his pink lips and just waited. 

“Do you wanna fuck me again?” Mike asked, getting a mouthful of fingers when he opened his mouth. He licked at them a couple times, but Harvey pulled away. 

“Do you want me to?”

“I’m not opposed to it, clearly.”

Harvey laughed a little. “Maybe later.” 

He slung his arm all the way across Mike’s chest, wrapping it around him, and then he gently pressed his face against the place where Mike’s underarm met the side of his ribs. 

Mike could feel the breath against him and he shivered. “Harvey--”

“I did a little research,” Harvey interrupted, just a murmur against Mike’s skin. “You work at a good firm. I’ve had the displeasure of working with them myself on a few occasions.”

“You looked me up?”

“You googled me first. Just leveling the playing field.” 

Mike scoffed. “I’m assuming you won on those occasions?”

“Of course,” Harvey replied, smirking. “I said it was a good firm, not a great one.”

Neither said anything else for several minutes. In fact, Mike thought Harvey was actually falling asleep. He thought was drifting off himself until he realized he was just really, really calm and really, really comfortable. His wrists felt cradled, not tied, and his arms rested comfortably on the pillow on either side of his head. That, and Harvey’s arm was still a warm pressure on top of him, and Mike felt... _ safe? _

 

Harvey shifted, still awake, and eventually tugged a heavy, warm blanket up over both of them and Mike felt strangely like they were cuddling. But he tried not to dwell on things that he was certain Harvey wouldn’t want for any real length of time.

Instead, Mike decided to test the waters; to see if Harvey would be okay if he initiated a conversation - because so far Harvey was the only adult in his life he could speak to about anything that mattered - or if Harvey was content to just keep up this strange but oddly comforting game of restrain-and-touch-gently.

“So…” Mike cleared his throat. “Sam really liked that place we went for lunch.”

“Did he?”

“Yeah, he kept going on and on about how we went to a ‘real’ restaurant.” 

Harvey laughed. “He has good taste.”

“I just wish I could give him more. I’m not asking for anything else, I just feel like I’m failing him, you know?”

“I’m sure he knows you’re doing your best, Mike.”

“But he doesn’t even ask for anything. At the store, he’ll point to something but when I say no, he just stops. I mean, he’s three years old and he doesn’t...he doesn’t even  _ ask  _ why he can’t have it, he doesn’t cry or have temper tantrums. Sometimes when he wants something when I can actually get it for him, he’ll say things like, ‘it’s okay, daddy, I don’t need it.’” 

“You wanna know what I saw? I saw a little kid who was happy, and polite, and sweet, and was holding onto you like he’d die if you ever let him go, and looking at you like you’re his hero. That kid loves you, Mike. You’re doing something right, okay?”

 

It took several seconds, but eventually Harvey was able to undo Mike’s bonds without actually having to desecrate the ties. He took Mike’s small wrists into his hands and rubbed them soothingly. 

“You can stay, if you want,” he said quietly. 

Mike hesitated, uncertain if Harvey was just feeling bad for him after his poverty sob-speech, or if he really meant it. “I...I want to.”

“Good. I have to go into the office tomorrow at ten for a while. When do you work?”

“Eight-thirty,” Mike said.

“Alright, well…” Harvey tapped the phone screen as he set a few alarms. “You can shower before you go, if you want. There’s towels in the closet.”    
  


*

Harvey woke up at nine o’clock to find the space next to him empty. He wasn’t sure why that made him disappointed, or why he spent the entire ride in the back of the town car thinking about how much he actually enjoyed Mike’s company, for reasons other than sex. The lines were blurring: suddenly, Mike was someone to talk to, genuinely interested in him, not just getting him off and then taking the money and running. Harvey wasn’t supposed to feel that way, about a prostitute no less, but he’d stopped looking at Mike like that’s all he was. He was a real person. With a story. And a child. And crushed dreams. And he was just trying to make it, the same as Harvey had been back when he was in the mail room. Except Mike didn’t have a Jessica Pearson to throw him a lifeline. 

Harvey pushed these thoughts - and possibly  _ emotions - _ to the back of his mind, because it was the only way he could concentrate on his work. 

On his way home, he resisted the urge to detour to the bar, uncertain if Mike would even be there, or if he should even find out. So he went home, poured a glass of whiskey, and decided if he was going to think about Mike, he might as well do it in the shower. 

And in his bedroom, on the nightstand, was the cash he’d left that morning. It appeared as though it hadn’t been counted, possibly even untouched altogether. He stared at it for a long time, wondering how someone like Mike, who’d hinted at an incredible memory, would somehow  _ forget _ to take eight hundred dollars that he definitely needed. 

There was note next to the pile of bills, and in scribbled penmanship was a phone number, and beneath it, read simply:  _ Maybe if I change we can start over.  _

 

*


End file.
